New Beginnings
by craziestanimefan
Summary: A collection of my Royai Day one-shots. Take Four: The things they carried were so much more than the physical, but they still had each other, and that had to count for something.
1. Bad Day

Bad Day

By craziestanimefan

Riza Hawkeye strode through the halls, exuding a deathly silence that many interpreted as meaning that she was tired, cranky, angry, or all three. Her fellow soldiers parted obediently, unwilling to face her wrath and leaving her an open path. Jean Havoc only sighed, rubbing his temples. What had that idiot of a colonel done this time?

"I did nothing," Roy stated, sitting in his armchair rather stiffly when Havoc confronted him later in the rare moments that Riza had left the room.

"I beg to differ, sir. Hawkeye's expression is enough to say that she is thoroughly upset."

Roy was silent.

"Is she really that unhappy, Jean?"

Havoc sighed, the cigarette in his mouth drooping more than usual. "I really do think so, sir. Whatever you did-"

"I didn't do anything," he said rather forcefully, and Jean realized that maybe the colonel was hiding something from the entire office.

"-just suck up your pride and apologize."

Roy looked beyond flustered and a bit puzzled (about what, Havoc did not know) but was at a loss of what to say. "Fine."

Havoc was a bit shocked at the ease of the task of convincing his usually rather arrogant colonel to apologize.

"But I need you to do me a few errands…"

It was like a battle of wills. She said nothing and worked at her station for seven hours straight, stopping only to fetch herself a cup of tea (while she usually brought him a coffee as well), a quick sandwich, and for bathroom breaks. It was odd, to have his daily routine disturbed. No coffee, no joking, and no Riza Hawkeye hounding on him. All of his other subordinates noticed the tension and found excuses to leave the office for extended periods of time. It was too silent. Havoc had delivered his "package" about half an hour ago. Now all that was left was to just spit it out. He stood from his desk and approached her. She still sat diligently, filling out her own paperwork silently.

"Hawkeye…"

She did not respond at all, not even a blink.

"Look, Riza-"

There was still no response. That meant he needed to get to the big guns and quick.

"I just wanted to say that I know I'm a conniving, manipulative, lazy, womanizing bastard. I'm sorry for paying that 2nd Lieutenant four wings down with endless drinks to do my paperwork when you weren't around, even though I stopped a few months ago."

She looked at him in surprise, and he found a need to speak even more quickly.

"I know that I'm an unforgivable cretin because I left you alone by the punch bowl at the military ball last month-" there was an intake of breath "-and I almost forgot your birthday seventeen days ago."

"Sir, I-"

"And I encouraged that nice lad to ask you on a date when I know you really don't want a relationship right now. I honestly didn't mean for him to grope you, I swear." She opened her mouth to interject, but he cut her off.

"I accidentally poured salt instead of sugar into your tea a few days ago when the cafeteria mixed them up and I blamed it on Havoc when it really was me, but I helped you home when you felt sick afterwards so that counts, right?" And with that he promptly thrust the package he'd sent Havoc to pick up, a bouquet of daisies, some candies, and some polish for her gun, into her arms as a peace offering.

"Excuse me, sir?" She looked utterly confused, but as the words processed in her mind, her face began to darken. Roy was nervous. Shouldn't that have made her not mad at him instead of the exact opposite?

"Isn't that why you're mad today, Lieutenant?" he asked carefully, knowing that by her narrowing eyes that he was treading on dangerous grounds.

"I happen to have been taking care of Black Hayate all of last week since he was sick, and I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep since. I'm sorry to have been giving everyone the wrong impression." She looked at him. "But that bout of tea certainly didn't help."

Roy's mouth was opening and closing, quite similarly to a fish. "So…you weren't mad at me?"

Riza sighed and then promptly yawned. "No, Colonel, but now that you've spilled all of your dirty secrets, I am."

Damn.

"So…can we just start this day over and forget this ever happened?" He stuck out his hand and gave her a sugar-coated smile, but his eyes really told her that he was there for support should she ever need it. She accepted, gripping firmly but replying with her own thankful gaze.

"I'm Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. I specialize in guns."

"Colonel Roy Mustang. Your devilishly handsome superior officer."

"Well then, my devilishly handsome superior officer," she said, smiling tightly, and Roy felt something in the pit of his stomach, "why don't we go four halls down and get all that paperwork you've been shunning?"

May his day be doubly damned.


	2. Rewrite

Rewrite

By craziestanimefan

Roy Mustang sat at his desk with a pen in hand that was perfectly poised above paper. The tip barely skimmed the surface of the paper before he drew it back and, out of habit, stuck it into his mouth before sighing in frustration. It had been like this for the past month and a half! He, an ex-soldier, was tackling one of the biggest obstacles in his life: which direction to take this book of his.

It was a surprising profession to slip into. After barely escaping the death sentence for high treason years ago, he and his men receded to a small town on the outskirts of Central with enough openness to give them a feeling of freedom but enough closure to allow them the peace they so desperately sought. He didn't know when he'd been inspired him to take up the pen and paper, though he vaguely remembered Riza's calloused hand at his shoulder, encouraging him to write out his feelings. He supposed that while at the time it felt like she was more a psychiatrist than a lover, he certainly hadn't expected to find so much pleasure and relaxation in writing. Before long he'd written a great deal more than she'd ever expected, and after tenderly asking if she could read it, Riza found his talent. The way he poured his soul, his passion into words, brought them to life in a way she'd never seen before. She convinced and assisted him in publishing a few of his shorter works under a false name and through careful management kept his true identity secret from all but the necessary persons. The stories seemed to be popular enough to generate a decent sum of revenue, and Roy enjoyed the relaxed profession.

The men were curious about Roy's new habit. He was not fond of having many read his works before publication, so their curiosity only increased. They were born and bred military men, but since they no longer served they reverted to their greatest side quest: eavesdropping. As he slaved over the paper, quickly scrawling and scratching away, they stared in awe at the man who used to despise paperwork writing so much and sometimes tried to sneak a glance at his progress. Even Havoc's little girl Claire would peek innocently at "Uncle Roy's" writing before he shooed her away with a kind smile or doted on his friend's five year old daughter.

Roy sighed. While it certainly was good for relieving stress at first, the desire to tell this story and frustration from his inability to do so only stirred up those nerves. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with his story? Why did the words not come as easily as they had before? He rose to close the door and blocked the light and noise from Havoc and Rebecca's visiting of Riza downstairs.

Roy slumped back into his chair and thought about joining his friends but found himself looking at a small guest standing by his desk. Claire Havoc looked at him with eager, shining blue eyes. She tugged insistently at his sleeve.

"Uncle Roy?"

Roy managed to tear himself away from his thoughts and pinched his niece's cheek affectionately. "Yes, Claire bear?" he teased, and she giggled.

"What'cha doing, Uncle Roy? You look mad."

To think this child could see through him so easily. Roy deduced that he must've been slipping up. Claire climbed onto his lap, staring at the paper inquisitively.

"Is this your story?" the curly haired girl asked, smiling cheerfully at him. He nodded. "Can you not write it?" He nodded again. Her gaze went back to the paper. "Do ya want to talk to me about it?"

She looked at him and he found himself unable to refuse.

"All right, Claire bear." He wound one arm around her and balanced her one knee as he reached for the stack of papers. "What do you want to know?"

"What is your story about, Uncle Roy? Is it like the stories Daddy tells me before I go to bed?" she asked, excited of the idea of a new story to listen to. He struggled to find a way to make the story more…child-appropriate.

"Well, Claire, your Uncle Roy's story is about a boy who is in the military."

"Like you and Uncle Kain and Uncle Vato and Uncle Heymans and Auntie Riza and Mommy and Daddy were, right?

"Just like that, Claire. And this boy, who's name is –"

"William," the girl interjected, shaking her head curtly as though to establish it as fact. Roy cracked a smile.

"No Claire, not William."

"Well, I like the name William, Uncle Roy," she insisted. "That's what Mommy and Daddy said they were going to name my little brother." Roy's eyebrows rose at the implications of the Havocs having a second child but said nothing. Also, he had been planning to name the main character Leon, but he supposed that while telling Claire the story that Leon could be temporarily changed to William.

"All right, we'll say his name is William. Now William is in the military and…he's not very happy."

"That's because fighting is bad, right? That's what Daddy and Mommy always tell me when me and Elysia fight sometimes."

"Yes, Claire." Roy smiled at her childlike innocence, his eyes hiding a distant flicker of bitterness. It was rather refreshing to hear such untainted thoughts after writing about the cruelties and foulness of war. He had very few memories of times when he thought so little about the complex troubles of the world.

Claire poked him in the chest, bringing Roy back to the present.

"Where was I?"

"You need to start at the 'once upon a time,' Uncle Roy! The beginning of your story!"

Once upon a time…

"It doesn't have a 'once upon a time,'" he said gently, but she gasped, scandalized. "Not everything is a fairy tale, Claire," he whispered. "This story doesn't have a happy ending."

She shook her head profusely, looking slightly confused. "What about William's time with his mommy and daddy or with the rest of his family? What about William doing fun stuff when he was little like me? Just because it doesn't have a happy ending doesn't mean there has to be a sad beginning too!" She frowned, her young mind obviously troubled by this fact.

The door opened and Jean's blonde head popped into the room. "Hello, Roy." He grinned at his daughter. "Hi there, sweetheart."

Claire forgot her previous feelings and rushed hastily to his side, nearly toppling her father over as she ran into his arms. "Daddy! I was talking to Uncle Roy about his story!"

"Really, pumpkin?" He looked almost apologetically at Roy, but Roy simply dismissed it with the wave of a hand. "Well, why don't we let Uncle Roy have some peace and quiet. Mommy says it's time to go home."

Claire pouted but agreed. "Bye Uncle Roy! I hope you can write your story!" She smiled at him and waved over her father's shoulder as Havoc carried her away and down the staircase.

He sat still for a while, her words still ringing in his ears.

'Just because it doesn't have a happy ending doesn't mean there has to be a sad beginning too.'

Was he just too pessimistic about life? After everything he'd been through, Roy figured it was rather justifiable. Surviving through two wars while many he'd known hadn't, the burden of those he killed on his shoulders…the world had never been kind to him. But this little girl, not yet even in school, skewed everything he'd lived through out of perspective with one sentence.

"Happy times, huh." Could he remember any? Surely there had been some from his childhood and growing up, but all he could remember was the war, his teacher's death, rigorous training…

"Roy?"

Riza came into their room quietly, her hair loose and down and her clothes changed in her preparation to sleep. His lips twitched at her matching flannel pajama shirt and pants. She paid him no heed and set a small plate of apple pie on his desk.

"I figured you'd like some after all your hard work." She placed a kiss in his hair before heading to the bathroom. "Come to bed when you're ready."

Roy absentmindedly paid attention to what she said. He couldn't stop looking at the pie. Something about it, besides the rather lopsided crust, stood out in his mind…

"_Pie?" Roy asked. "It's the middle of the hottest summer Amestris has ever seen and you bake a pie?" He automatically wished to take it back. He's just arrived a few days ago and an awkward tension still hung over them._

_Riza scowled. "The apples were going to go bad. You should be thankful, you lunkhead."_

_He held up his hands in surrender. "I like pie," he said defensively. Helping himself to a slice and offering one to Riza, Roy sat down at the table. _

"_Well?" she nearly demanded before realizing her tone and flushing. He laughed, making her flush darker, but his eyes twinkled playfully. _

"_It's pretty good," he commented cheerily, "but the crust is kind of shaped funny."_

_She threw an apple at him, and he found out about her excellent aim as it nailed him in the forehead, but she smiled as well. "Well, Mr. Mustang, your head is kind of shaped funny."_

"_Touché."_

_She sat next to him, happily partaking in the treat. "You know, Mr. Mustang, I think we'll get along just fine."_

When she came out of the bathroom, Riza was surprised at Roy scribbling furiously. By looking at his pace, she knew he was not coming to bed any time soon. She smiled softly and crept into their sheets and fell asleep.

She woke up bleary-eyed about five hours later from an enthusiastic shaking.

"Read this," he whispered, and he pushed a handful of papers into her hands. She glanced at the clock but nonetheless began reading.

"William," she paused at the first word of Roy's revised version of his work but continued. "William pressed a hand firmly over the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He could quickly feel the effects of losing blood.

'I need to keep going,' he thought wildly. 'I need to…for her.'

He wanted to remember the feel of arms around him. That feeling of being cherished, being happy…when had he lost it? He wanted to go back to those days.

He could remember lying in the grass, his eyes closed and the green strands tickling his bare arms and legs. The sun's warmth on his skin as the wind blew was a perfect balance. He could picture the swing in the yard, the weathered ropes tied to a smooth plank of wood bristling lightly in the breeze. The soothing smell of cinnamon and apple permeated the surrounding air. As he lay there, a body slid next to his and smooth arms circled around his torso. An overwhelming feeling of serenity overcame him. This is what he wanted life to be like, to be remembered as.

Now, in the field of blood reeking with the smell of steel and smoke, he remembered those times. Even as he struggled to just keep going, there was a comfort in remembrance.

He wanted to go back to her. And he decided then that he definitely would."

Riza was silent as she flipped through the pages. The last few sentences of his novel caught her eye. "As she cried, holding him in her arms for the last time as he felt his strength finally fading, he was glad to again know the feeling of being cherished, being held. He made it back, just like he promised himself so many months ago."

There was quiet as Riza reveled in the small passage she just read aloud. When had this come to him? She looked into his tired eyes, ready to inquire, but stopped. Instead, she conveyed wordlessly, 'Where did this come from?'

"A little girl and a slice of pie." He smirked. "They taught me that just because it doesn't have a happy ending, it doesn't mean there has to be a sad beginning too." He gave her a kiss and then climbed into bed with her. "Now let's sleep." And they did.


	3. Believe

Believe

By craziestanimefan

Warning: Mild spoilers for chapters 94/95.

_She stood at the fresh grave, unsure of what to do. Where would she go? What was she going to do with herself? Riza stood straight, strong, and primly, just like her father had always instructed, but she was so lost. She knew none of her other family, or even if they were alive at all. It was just her father, his apprentice, and her. That was all she had._

_A hand rested on her shoulder. She didn't have to look back to know who it was._

"_Thank you," she said quietly, just staring at the lettering of the gravestone. "With the house in disrepair and the rest of Father's funds gone…"_

"_It was the least I could do as an apprentice for my teacher," he replied, and he stood by her side as she gazed at the remnants of her family. _

_There was an awkward silence for a while. They were two strangers that had lived in the same house, eaten the same food, even used the same bathroom, but they were complete and utter strangers. She knew next to nothing about this man that the young boy she had known had become but his name._

_Roy was different. She wasn't quite sure if it was a good or bad different yet. He'd grown taller since he'd left, a good three or four inches. His hair was still as dark and still as messy. His eyes…they were the eyes of a soldier, hard and disciplined. _

"_What are you going to do, Riza?"_

_She heaved a sigh. "I'll…I'll think it over. I'm not quite sure what to do or where to go. Father made sure I got an education, so I'll get by somehow." She paused and looked at him, and he saw just how uncertain she was about her future._

"_If you ever need me," he said, "feel free to contact me in the military. I'll probably be in there for life."_

"_Don't die," she commanded._

"_Don't jinx me," he joked, but he knew for her sake as much as his that he wouldn't die. He stared down at his hands apprehensively. "Honestly…I can't guarantee you that. It's a risk in my job as a soldier to die, maybe even like a piece of trash along the road. But-" he clenched his hands "-I want to protect people, and if I can do that, then I'll be happy."_

_She smiled softly. He looked a bit sheepish after confiding in her and scratched the back of his head out of embarrassment. But it was a nice dream to have, protecting people and being happy. She could trust her back to this man and his dream. He certainly was different, and it was a good different. She wanted to believe- no, she believed in him with all her heart. _

* * *

Roy didn't know how long he sat hunched on the cold stone floors. Deep in the foundation of that dank building he was tested, and for the first time he almost failed. He nearly lost himself and his path. It was a frightening, sickening thought to think that in that one moment of anger he would throw away everything he and his comrades had worked for, everything that Maes sacrificed his life for. Roy was truly disgusted with himself.

Riza made no effort to approach him. She simply let him sit there, quietly nursing her wounds and watching if he could heal his own. If he couldn't, then that was why she was there: to support him in every way she could.

"Why are you still here?" he bit out hoarsely. She was slightly taken aback by his question.

"Pardon?"

He looked at her, and she saw something she hadn't seen in many years: a gaze so lost, so unbearably broken.

"Why are you still here with me, Hawkeye?" When she didn't respond, he felt his temper flare as he snapped, "Answer me, Lieutenant!"

"I am here out of my loyalty to you, sir." She answered confidently, so smoothly, too comfortably to ease his mind.

"Why."

"Why?"

"Why are you so loyal? I know you saw what I nearly did, Riza. I was willing to risk everything for that one bout of vengeance! How can you accept that?"

"I didn't accept that, sir. That's why I nearly shot you in the head. With these two hands, I nearly fulfilled that promise I made to you so long." She smiled wryly, her lips tight and jaw clenched. "Inwardly, I prayed I wouldn't have to. The good man I know as Colonel Roy Mustang was in there somewhere, confused, torn, and sad, but in there. I'm glad that he's back, and that I didn't have to follow through." She reached to lay a hand on his arm, but he shied away and turned the other direction. Determined, she firmly gripped his shoulder and turned him towards her, trying to catch his eyes but failing.

"I dragged you into this mess, haven't I, Riza?" he asked. "That secret you entrusted to me, all the blood that you've spilt... I know how heavy a burden it is for you too." He forced himself to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm not," she said unwaveringly. "You gave me hope for the future. You gave me a world to believe in, and I believe in you, the one who brought that vision to me, even more. I trusted my back to you and that dream all those years ago, and I still do today." She sucked in her breath and did one of the boldest things she'd ever done: she hugged him. "That is why I follow you, sir. That is why I'm still here."

Roy wasn't quite sure what to do. Never before had Riza displayed such physical affection, and it had been a long time since he'd felt a warm embrace. He felt a calming love, a supportive friend, and a fierce protector in this hug. Turning his face into her neck, he hugged her back.

"Thank you, Riza."

The rumble of the walls brought them out of their peaceful reverie. Suddenly reminded of their place and goal, Riza pulled away.

"Are you ready, sir?" she asked, slipping back into the familiar role of military lieutenant and gunman. She tightened the bandage on her shoulder, slung her rifle onto her back, and quickly reloaded her semi-automatic handguns before helping Roy up. "This battle is not over." She looked at him. "Don't die."

He looked back at her. "I won't," he said firmly. With a deep breath, he added, "And should we have the chance for a new start after this…I still want you by my side, Lieutenant."

"You already know my answer, Colonel. To hell and back, I will follow you."

He took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers, and kissed it lightly. "Not to hell. To the future."

She smiled. "To the future."


	4. Weight

Weight

By craziestanimefan

In the academy, they were always told to carry as little as possible. As soldiers, they could not afford to be weighed down by unnecessary things.

Everyone was required to have the standard blue uniform, black shoes, desert camouflage, water, and daily rations. Whatever else they carried depended on their position.

Snipers carried a specially designed bolt-action rifle for long ranges, an assault rifle for mid and short range, a semi-automatic pistol for close range self-defense, and as many rounds and detachable magazines as deemed necessary by sniper location and proficiency. Bipods and slings were optional, but most were forgone for the extra weight that would come with them. These materials were often kept in bags or backpacks for organization and ease of travel. The straps of these bags often dug into the arms, backs, and shoulders of already weary soldiers, almost as a way of emphasizing how heavy the burden was.

State Alchemists were luckier, evading the tiresome weight of guns and ammunition. They required only what was needed for their transmutations, ranging from nothing at all to tremendous armor. Few brought actual weapons, relying on science and training to get them through this hell.

But each soldier carried something else, something much heavier than any weapon.

Riza Hawkeye carried the recipe to the Flame Alchemist on her back, forever bound to her deceased father's secret. She carried with her the memory of her cheek resting against metal as she peered through her scope, the sight of a person falling to the ground, the knowledge that whenever she pulled the trigger that someone was going to die.

Roy Mustang carried a pair of gloves, embroidered with a special transmutation circle that allowed him to control oxygen in the air and made with a fabric that allowed a single spark to disastrously explode. He carried with him the tired looks of a killer and the anguish of a man torn between obedience, morality, and justice.

They found each other on the battlefield.

It had been many long years since they'd last seen each other, each drastically different than before. They came into the military with dreams and hopes of peace, only to be burdened by the terrors of war. He decided then that he wanted to change things in a more drastic way; she, trusting in his goals, followed.

As he aspired to ascend the ranks and become Fuhrer, he faced a world of cunning and deceit. It was a vicious world, one that would throw everything and anything at him just to see him fail. He would take into stride any challenge tossed at him, every doubtful remark, every sneer, every responsibility, gladly accepting the load in exchange for a brighter future for everyone.

She accepted the responsibility of being his subordinate, the one responsible for keeping him in line and focused. It was a duty she embraced out of her faith in him and his goal. She would take on the role of bodyguard, confidant, and friend, pushing him to the top.

Together, they encountered plan after plan, realizing just how deep they'd gotten themselves into. They shared the shock, pain, and worry of a corrupt government, the death of a beloved friend, and the true intentions of a most evil power. There were times when he felt defeated, instances where she just wanted to collapse, because there was only so much that two human beings could do. But they still had each other and they still had their dream, and that was good enough reason to keep trying.

In one final moment, it was all over. There was blood, sacrifice, and struggle, but there was also an overwhelming relief and happiness. The military government of Amestris was demolished, and a new democracy was erected in its stead. It was the end of meaningless wars and fighting and the dawn of a new era.

There would always be heaviness in their hearts left from the war. They would always have scars that only time could heal. But Riza would never ever have to carry a gun, and Roy would never use his gloves again. There was solace in the feeling that some of the weight was finally lifted and that these two hearts could finally be at peace.

END.


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